The Intimacy of Death
by MetalWolfMelody
Summary: Pain. Torture. Death. Both Reid and Morgan are well versed in the subjects, but with Morgan having sufferd much more recently. With someone finally able to relate to his pain, Reid seizes the opportunity to speak to Morgan over a glass of wine, and the two analyze a subject that no others will speak to them about; death. One-shot.


As Morgan's eyes refocused, he sniffed slightly, straightening up in his seat and pulling at his shirt as though he had been working, rather than caught in the clutches of a terrible recollection. He hoped that no one had noticed him staring blankly at the wall, caught in the daydream of reminiscence, the memories of his torment stuck replaying in his mind over and over again. Clearing the back of his throat, and adjusting himself in the seat once more, Morgan glanced around the office space, grateful to see that his teammates were all slouched at their desks, eyes glazed over as they either peered at a computer screen or scrawled a pen across paper.

Just before he was about to look down to his own work, Morgan realized that there was one set of eyes unaccounted for; Spencer was not at his desk, nor in any immediate line of sight. While it was not unusual for a coworker to drift between desks or head over to the coffee machine, Morgan was anxious; he knew that Reid had been keeping an especially keen eye on him since he had suffered so greatly. Morgan couldn't help but wonder if Reid was reliving his own agonizing torture, or seeing a reflection of himself in everything that Morgan did.

Moments before he was going to give up the search for Reid's lean form, a voice came from behind him, causing Morgan to whirl around. Reid stood in front of him, a coffee clutched in his hands, eyes cold and glassy.

"You're remembering, aren't you?" The young genius posed the question softly, as though he already knew the answer. Biting down on his lower lip, Morgan glanced around once more, hesitating to answer. Though there was always the sound of work, voices murmuring and phones ringing, the thought of having a personal conversation out in the open made Morgan incredibly anxious. The hairs on the back of his neck were bristling at the imaginary threat, but he still forced a single word from his mouth, staring at Reid's passive face, trying to replicate the neutrality on his own.

"Yeah." Even though the response was grunted, it fell flat, and Morgan was forced to clear his throat again. It was as though the air around them had become incredibly thick, sealing them away from the rest of the world. At the same time, it seemed as though Reid remained unfazed, only blinking once before speaking again, voice hushed.

"No one wants to talk to you about it. They think that they're going to break you. They thought they were going to break me. But I can talk to you about it. Because I know." Although Reid kept his face neutral, sipping his coffee as he finished, Morgan felt the traces of a chill run up his spine. The words weren't so much cryptic as they were out of character, but Morgan was still able to find the meaning, the relation that Reid was desperate to make. The bridge between their experiences was quite clear; perhaps Reid was finally glad to find someone to share his pain with, someone who could truly understand. And although he was still aching terribly from his own struggles, part of Morgan was glad to have someone that could relate closely to what he had gone through.

"Yeah, Reid. I know," Morgan responded, voice low and rough. What exactly Reid desired at this point, his purpose for intervening, was unclear. Fortunately, he had no need to pose a question, or prompt Reid further, for the younger profiler continued, tilting his chin up as a small grin played across his lips.

"I understand you, Morgan. We know what they don't. And we don't have to be afraid anymore. How about you come over to my place tonight, six o'clock, and we can chat." The way that Reid spoke was still terribly out of character; but more so than that, it was sure, it was resolute. There was an air of determination and confidence on the topic that Morgan wasn't ready to doubt. Even though his body still held whispers of pain when he moved, he figured that he may as well relent to Reid's request, curious as to exactly what the genius meant. Eager to get back to work, worried that they were drawing attention, Morgan nodded hurriedly.

"Alright, Reid, alright. I'll be there. I have work to do, y'know? We can talk tonight, alright?" He forced a smile onto his face to match the question, hoping that Reid would relent. Fortunately, it seemed that the agreement to the meeting was enough for the younger man, who nodded in what appeared to be satisfaction.

"I'll see you there." Then without so much as another word, Reid turned his back, and walked back over to his desk, sitting down as though nothing had transpired. Morgan, on the other hand, was left speechless. His heart was thundering in his chest, the words turning over in his mind, souring his gut.

 _'We know what they don't. And we don't have to be afraid anymore.'_

Sickened, Morgan feared that he knew exactly what those words meant. And even though he had had those feelings himself a hundred times since he lay in the back of that ambulance, he was praying that there was some way he was wrong.

 **-0-0-0-0-0-**

Night had yet to fall, but kisses of dusk were casting shadows across the brick building that Morgan walked into, his hands crammed into the pockets of his jacket. For some strange reason, his heart was fluttering inside of his chest, as though it were trying to escape. It was not a thunderous heartbeat, as though he were ready to run, willing to burst from his ribcage. Instead, the touch was much more gentle, one nursed by the milk of anxiety, as though a butterfly were trapped in his chest.

Reid answered the door after one round of knocking, a casual smile on his face, a different mood portrayed than the one discussed with his words earlier. The light from inside the apartment was warm, welcoming to Morgan's dark eyes.

"Evening, Morgan," Reid greeted, ushering the other agent into his home with a wide sweep of his arm. Nodding as his greeting, Morgan made his way into the space, surveilling it closely. It wasn't the first time he had been to Reid's apartment, so he didn't bother looking too closely at the many shelves of books and the dark brown couches. Tonight, he was there to focus on the message that Reid had promised, and possibly a chance to discuss what he had endured with one of the only people who would ever have a chance at understanding his agony.

OMuch to Morgan's surprise, he saw two empty wineglasses sitting at the coffee table in front of the couch, flanked by two bottles. As the door shut behind them, Reid made his way over to the couch, gesturing for Morgan to come closer as he grabbed the two bottles.

"I don't usually drink wine, but these are gifts that I've been meaning to get rid of. I know it's not your tastes either, but we're drinking tonight. Pick one," Reid offered, holding the two bottles out for Morgan to observe. The agent's eyebrows raised as he imagined sitting and sipping wine while he mulled over his problems, but had no argument in having a drink of some sort to take his mind off the words that would be spilling from his lips. Not particularly choosy over wine, he gestured to the bottle on the left before sitting down on the couch, grateful that it was comfortable as it looked.

Once the two glasses were filled with the dark red drink, Morgan grabbed his respective glass and took it to his lips, savoring the bitter and earthy taste as it washed over his tongue. While wine didn't have enough bite to rival his usual preferences, he wasn't about to turn it away, especially as a guest.

"So," Reid started, rather dispassionately. "I assume you know what I was talking about earlier."

"I think I know, but I'm really hoping that I'm wrong, because what I'm thinking about is fucked up," Morgan said with a snort, shaking his head. In a way, he didn't believe himself, that he was even toying with the possibility that Reid felt the same was as he did over something so heinous, so taboo. Rather than Reid sobering with the weight of Morgan's words, he laughed, a boyish laugh that was so incredibly light. Sitting down on the end of the couch that Morgan wasn't perched on, Reid lounged out, letting his eyes wander up to the ceiling.

"Then I think we're talking about the same damn problem. Death."

The word hung in the air like a pallid shadow that no one wished to call attention to. Death. The other side of the curtain, the veil that both men had passed through, and been yanked back from, painfully called to life. It was an experience that no one should have to suffer more than once, especially not after hours of pain and agony, fear and terror becoming new masters.

Unfortunately, that wasn't exactly how the story went. Yes, there was pain and there was agony. But death itself, death was the easy part. Swallowing uncomfortably, Derek nodded his confirmation. Death was the subject at hand, however unpleasant.

Funnily enough, this caused Reid to grin, the kind that he gave the team after he nailed a certain detail on a case. That goddamn know-it-all smirk that gave Morgan the urge to shake his head. However, seeing it in this low lighting only made his stomach churn. For once, he was right. In this time and place, they were both thinking about death. Before he could speak, scrambling to think of words adequate to describe those feelings that he had pent up inside, Reid interjected, his voice low and smooth.

"You can't stop thinking about death. That's what you're thinking about every time you look at the wall and your eyes lose focus. Maybe sometimes you're thinking about the pain, maybe sometimes you're thinking about the look in the eye of the man that hurt you. But what you're really thinking about is when you were dying." As Reid stared at him curiously, Morgan couldn't help but swallow. Once more, Reid was right. Death had been the only thing on his mind, that moment where everything went dark, and his body ceased its true function. Mind hazy at the prospect of Reid understanding, Morgan listened with intent as Reid continued.

"Dying, that's the hard part. But what everyone else doesn't know is that death, it's too easy. Everything might have hurt like hell, everything might have mattered, but in death, nothing matters. Everything is warm, and nothing matters anymore. It's like a breath that collects you into its arms, carefully, tenderly. At the same time, it's not a motherly touch. It's intimate, it's more close and personal than any relationship you could ever dream of having. Death, death is nothing to be afraid of. It's a wonderful place."

"Sometimes I want to go back," Derek suddenly blurted, remembering those few seconds of haze where there was nothing but blackness as his body gave up, surrendered to that warmth and that nothingness that beckoned. Those few seconds were a promise whispered into his ear, in the form of his own voice, that it was alright, that he could stop fighting for once, that he could give up. That there was a strange comfort in that sea of blackness, a free fall that surrounded him like feather soft down.

But to hear those words slip from his lips in reality petrified him. Mortified by his confession, he turned to Spencer, whose smile had dropped. The younger man was holding his wine glass close, staring down into the rich color as though it were a looking glass, as though it held some secret. Then he spoke, just as quietly as he did when he was feeling more timid.

"Sometimes I do too. I was free of everything that I hated. And I think that if I ever had to describe peace, I would tell someone that death is peace. It's freedom. It's everything that I ever dreamed of, and more. That's what no one else knows. Dying is hard. Death is easy. And they can never, ever possibly know, until it's their turn." Silence spanned the two, Morgan resisting the urge to shiver as he played those moments of darkness in his mind over and over again, where his consciousness, his self-identity, they all slipped through his fingers like sand. Similarly, he tossed Spencer's words around in his mind, then gently repeated the few that had stuck.

"The intimacy of death. I would never have though to say that, Reid," Morgan offered gently, diverting the attention from his words with a sip of wine. Fortunately, Reid took no offense, smiling briefly before speaking again, voice back to neutral.

"I feel as though I know too much. A man has no right in knowing what he holds when he is alive, as well as what he holds in death. I can see my past, my future, and my present. I know what I have to lose, and I know just what awaits me. And sometimes, I can't help but desire the latter. Is that selfish of me?" The younger man inquired, to which Morgan held no true answer. Perhaps it was because Reid had had a much longer period of time to mull over the topic, but perhaps it was because he felt the same way. There was less terror now that he knew what death was, but there was also that strange desire to use his knowledge to look at the world differently. Whatever the case, there was no way to return.

Rather than answer with words, Morgan relaxed back onto the couch, trying to ease his tensed muscles. To further make his point, he brought the wine to his lips, taking a small sip, then giving in to the distraction and letting a large swallow wash into his mouth. Part of him hoped that the alcohol would take the memories with it, as he had been hoping every night since he had been so terribly injured. Although he had Savannah to lean on, there were times when she just wasn't enough.

To even that action, Morgan noticed Reid looking at him peculiarly, analyzing each micro-expression with a keen eye. While it was always uncomfortable to be scoured so closely by a friend, Morgan knew that the younger agent was about to express another revelation, as he had no shortage of words that evening. Just as he had expected, Morgan gave a silent sigh as Reid began speaking again.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Reid cautioned, gesturing towards the wine. Raising an eyebrow, Morgan held the glass out ever so slightly, then looked back to Reid.

"What're you talking about?" Morgan asked, genuinely confused as to what Reid could possibly mean. The younger man was drinking as well, but it seemed that Reid had suddenly drawn a distinction between them. Before he could ask another question, or protest that Reid was the one who had offered him the drink, the agent spoke up, his voice a bit loftier than it had been.

"You're not going to forget. Nothing makes you forget, and nothing makes it better. Drinking isn't going to make it go away, and neither will anything else. And you don't want to go down that road. Put down the damn bottle before you ruin your life, Morgan. I knew you'd been drinking, I knew you'd want something to get away, and I can see it in your eyes that you want something harder. You want something that's going to make your mind go fuzzy and make everything a little easier. Maybe it will for an hour, maybe two if you're lucky, but then you're going to want more, and you're going to feel like shit for it. So just… don't."

Morgan swallowed uncomfortably, and put the wine glass down, as though the liquid were suddenly poison. He knew what Spencer had gone through, and also knew that now, of all times, would be a bad time to speak out against the wisdom that Reid had on the subject. The burden that Reid had carried alone for so long was now his area of expertise, and once more, Morgan feared that Reid was right. Of all the things he wanted to do, he didn't want to lose himself by crawling inside a bottle to forget.

"Alright, man, alright," Morgan murmured, eyeing the glass he had set down carefully, noticing that it was nearly drained, while Reid's was still brimming. Hardly any time had passed, and he had been eager to such more alcohol into his body, anything to numb the growing weight, pressing down on his shoulders more and more with each passing moment. In fact, his chest started to grow tight, and before he knew it, he was fighting for a breath, lungs crackling as he tried to draw in air.

"Easy, Morgan. Take it easy," Spencer prompted gently, setting down his own glass and sliding over to sit a bit closer to Morgan. "Just take a breath. It'll pass. It always does."

Morgan tried to listen, he really did. He latched onto those words, looked at Spencer's deep eyes as waves of panic and fear rushed over him, bringing to blood in his veins to a boil. It felt as though the specters of pain had stitched themselves up out of shadow and were entwining their arms around him, as though fear itself were trying to strangle him. Panic was a white hot wave, washing over him with agonizing intent. Then as suddenly as it began, it was over, and Morgan was left gasping gently, blinking, trying to recover his dignity.

In that moment, Reid just smiled sympathetically, and returned to his side of the couch. Still blinking, and trying to make sense of the attack, Morgan tried to form words on his tongue, but they felt too heavy, too unreal. Then when he did speak, the words were stuttered, practically incomplete.

"I don't- I never wanted this," he managed to sputter, lips not cooperating with the storm of thought raging in his mind. Once more, Spencer gave the smallest of grins, sympathy nearly blinding.

"I know," the younger man said quietly, perhaps more human than he had sounded the whole night. "And you're never going to want it. You're going to loathe this piece of you for the rest of your life. But you'll be stronger for it. I think I am. I know it sounds like something you'd read in a dollar store self-help book, but it's true. Once you get past the worst of this, and I promise how you're feeling right about now will be the worst of it, you're going to feel a lot stronger in just a little while. If I can get through it, you can, right?" Reid finished with a joke, the smile cracking wide enough to show his teeth. And seeing it, even still escaping the throes of a panic attack, Morgan had to chuckle back.

"I don't know about that, pretty boy. You're pretty tough." And Morgan meant every word. He knew that Reid's mental resolve was unparalleled. But then he thought about Savannah, and he thought about Reid's lapse into drugs, and then he pictured the future he wanted for himself.

It was a future without fear, it was a future without pain, and it was a future with nothing but happiness. In his future, Morgan knew that he would be the man that he had always dreamed of becoming; strong, fearless, and respectable. He knew that he wouldn't get there without determination, and a lot of hard work, that was something that he had always known. But sitting in Reid's living room, speaking about how the warmth of death was undeniably comforting, how he had stood against the reaper and won, he knew just one thing in that moment.

More than anything else in the world, Derek Morgan knew that he was invincible, and just like all challenges beforehand, in this too, he would overcome.

- **fin** -

 **Thank you all so much for reading! Even though I felt that in some cases Reid was a little OOC, I enjoyed writing this. I always found it interesting, the parallels and disconnects between Morgan and Reid in their respective torture, and figured that I would explore it just a little more. If you have any questions, comments, concerns, critique, or just want to talk, feel free to drop a review or shoot me a PM. I really just hope that you all enjoyed!**


End file.
